Simple Pleasures

The tale of the gap year is certainly not one that I can claim to have written myself. For generations Australians have stepped from 747's with blinking eyes and well worn Duke of Edinburgh packs, seeking to replicate the experiences of a brother, an aunt, a co-worker. The travel paths change, but the core experience remains the same: a heavily condensed, action packed tour of the continent. Filled with beer and as many memories made as lost, even mentioning the word gap year to any mature aged Aussie is enough to cause a sigh and a matching wistful gaze off into the middle distance. However while the average uni student will spin yarns of cliff diving in Lagos, of pub-crawls in Prague, or of steins drained in Munich, the highlight of my trip abroad is far simpler.

The backdrop of my iconic travel treasure was Barcelona in the height of summer, a city that inspired Pablo Neruda into works of breathless prose matched only by the timeless "3 Euros for a beer AND a plate of tapas, give mum a call boys, I won't be home for tea" attributed to my travel partner Jack. Due to a startling lack of foresight on our part we had chosen accommodation that, while more than comfortable, was a solid 35 minute trundle to anywhere in Barcelona worth being. So it was, sweaty and a touch hung-over, that we arrived at Barcelona's eclectic artery, the Ramblas. We were drawn helplessly into La Boqueria, a marketplace that makes you question how you had ever shopped any other way. Overwhelmed by a dizzying array of pig snouts and screaming juicers, we managed to scrounge together the euros to purchase some chorizo, 2 wheels of Camembert, and a loaf of bread fresher than Xavier's tri-toned party shirt.

Bags laden with our haul, we took to the underground to brave the cities confusing metro system. Admittedly, our combined 7 words of Spanish meant that the blame probably lay more with us than the good civil servants of Barcelona, but hey, hindsight is 20/20. After much confusion over Jack's startling ability to receive a coffee from the helpful person behind the ticket window, we made it to our destination, the Park Guell. And so, 6 months removed from slogging through the HSC, I found myself on the opposite side of the world, in the shadow of Gaudi's masterpieces, breaking bread with my closest friends in the world. And even though you can't see me, throughout the writing of this story my gaze has been firmly fixed on the middle distance. I may have even sighed a few times.